Page 83 of Seph

The waitress whimpered, her faint squeal smothered by his free hand.

“Where is she?”

“Circe is her vessel! Divine vessel,” she whispered, voice high and terrified.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he demanded, grip tightening on her arm. If Emily saw him like this, would she understand?

Can’t think about that now.

“She can talk to the goddess! She is the timeless one, the keeper of all thoughts. She—”

“The goddess? She ‘talks’ to Circe on the fifth floor? Is that right?”

“How do you... You are one of the demons she warns of! Minions of the Underworld.”

“And you’re about to end up in Tartarus unless you tell me where the secret elevator is and how I can access it to get to the fifth floor,” he warned, licking his fangs.

For a second, she seemed to resist. Simeon lost his patience and took a pinch of powder from the bag and blew it right into her face.

With a cough and sputter, the girl’s face cleared. “What?”

“Elevator. Fifth floor. How?” he growled.

“Keycard. Private elevator.” She fumbled at her waist and drew out a pink and white keycard with the telltale black edge from inside a thin teal wristlet.

“Where?”

“Circe’s dressing room!”

“Where is her dressing room?”

“Who’s?”

“Don’t be cute.” Simeon squeezed the soft column of her throat and winced when she gasped for air. “Where is Circe’s dressing room?”

“Who’s Circe?” she rasped, lines forming between her brows as she looked at him in confusion.

Simeon dropped her, frowning. “Go. Get out of the building, and don’t you dare come back.” He released her, throwing her toward the entrance with more force than he intended.

Bloody marvelous. This worked better than we could have imagined. No one is going to remember anything we need to know!

Hanging back as people beat a path to the exit, Simeon dared to peep inside his pocket and look at Seph’s scrying crystal.

Nothing. Not a flicker.

I hope Em is having better luck.

Emily watched the room empty out from behind a large poster with the week’s attraction schedule. Every guest was fleeing, either because they finally felt the hold of the enchanted building break or because they shared the herd instinct to panic and bolt when the rest did. Some of the staff fled, too, but Circe, a statuesque redhead who had been performing in a haze of artificial green fog while wearing a gauzy white Grecian get-up and gold coils of jewelry up her arms, meandered away. Instead of exiting the room, she walked back through the rear of the stage.

Here we go again. Running toward the danger as everyone else runs away from it.

Crouched low with her stupidly impractical heels in one hand, Emily raced silently against the crowd and up on the stage.

I wish Simeon were with me. He can see in the dark.

And I hope he’s okay. I’m sure he’s okay.

He has to be okay.

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